Kaitlyn Rice - The Late Bloomer's Baby

Not Mama exactly, but almost.

Callie opened the freezer door and grabbed another red Popsicle. She unwrapped it and handed it to Luke, who plopped his well-padded bottom onto the floor to examine this new kind of food.

As her little boy began to create a colossal mess on his face, hands and clothes, Callie returned her attention to Ethan. “As I was saying, we can’t be around each other.”

“I think we’d do all right.”

Callie shook her head. “The flood put my sister’s life in turmoil. Our bickering would make things worse. Just go.”

“I have no intention of fighting with you, Callie.”

“Believe me, we’d fight.” Callie caught a motion out of the corner of her eye and looked down.

Luke was banging his goopy snack against Ethan’s shoe.

Ethan looked, too, but he didn’t react. “Are you still that upset with me?” he asked, and offered Callie one charming dimple.

She sighed. Her feelings for Ethan were overwhelming, especially with him just inches away, gazing at her through eyes that warmed her faster than any form of external heat.

But anger was still somewhere in the mix.

She nodded.

Ethan eased his foot away from Luke. “Will you be in Kansas for a while or do you have to get back to your job?”

“I took a leave of absence.”

“You did?”

“Josie and I are all the family Isabel has, Ethan. I’m not so detached that I’d stay in Denver while she’s going through something like this.”

He nodded. “All right. Then I’ll concede for now,” he said. “I’ll try Isabel’s house again. I want to at least offer her my best wishes.”

Callie hesitated. If Ethan went to the house alone, Isabel would refuse to talk to him. She’d follow the plan.

But if Ethan mentioned that he’d been inside Josie’s apartment—that he’d spoken to Callie or watched the children playing—Isabel might not know how to react.

Callie stood up straighter, as if to add oomph to her words by speaking them from a higher plane. “She’s probably at the house by now, but she’s working hard. Let’s not disturb her.”

Ethan pulled paper towels from Josie’s countertop holder and wiped red slush from his shoe. “If she’s busy I’ll stay only a minute.”

Callie extended her open palm. After Ethan had deposited the towel there, she held his gaze and tried to look stern. “You can’t go to the house.”

“Sure I can.”

“Ethaa-nn!”

“Callie!”

She broke the stare and walked toward the sink, intending to toss the towel into Josie’s wastebasket. On the way, she stepped in one of Luke’s slush puddles, slid on one foot and almost landed on her bottom. She gripped the counter and turned to glower at Ethan, whose expression held a glint of laughter.

She could slap him silly.

Or kiss him.

Lord. How could she even think that? She should have learned her lesson when Ethan had left her.

She had learned her lesson.

Apparently, recognizing the wrongness of something didn’t stop her from wanting it. But she could resist. Ella Blume had raised strong daughters. And smart ones. Callie could handle this.

Wiping her sneaker with the same paper towel Ethan had used, she scrambled to think of some indisputable reason for him to return to Wichita without seeing her sister.

He spoke first. “Look at the bright side. This way, you won’t have to deal with me a minute longer. But you and I should talk before you head back to Colorado.”

She tossed the towel on the counter and eyed him. “About what?”

“The marriage,” he said, his face impassive. “We are still married.”

Yes, they were. If Callie didn’t have an irresistibly cute, diaper-clad reason for shying away from legal proceedings, she would have divorced Ethan a long time ago. But she’d never wanted to draw his attention to her life. She’d done some checking soon after Luke’s birth, and had learned that a discussion of children showed up on most divorce documents. A couple either had minor children or didn’t, and filed papers accordingly.

Even if she’d lied, stating that she and Ethan had no children, she’d feared that Ethan would show up in Denver for one last talk and get the surprise of his life. Now Callie resisted an urge to check on Luke, who had crawled beyond the table and chairs where she couldn’t see him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t file for divorce,” Ethan said.

Callie shrugged. She’d had nightmares about this day. She’d blocked reality, hoping that Ethan would follow in her father’s footsteps and disappear, still legally married but uninterested in active participation. While that might have been a pipe dream, it had worked for her mother. It had worked for Callie for almost two years.

Why not forever?

Ethan jangled his keys in his pocket and stepped over the baby gate. Callie couldn’t let him go to the house alone. With Isabel’s phone out of commission, she couldn’t even call to warn her sister about the slight change in plans.

“I’ll go with you,” Callie said, searching the kitchen floor for Luke.

“Wouldn’t that defeat your goal?” Ethan said. “I thought you wanted me out of your way.”

She wanted him to leave without discussing a divorce, and if she spent much time in his company she feared the subject would come up.

She ignored his comment. “Give me a minute to change the baby,” she said. Then she grabbed sticky Luke from beside the microwave stand and the diaper bag from the table, and vaulted past Ethan. She turned off the television on her way to the bathroom.

“Kids, finish the Popsicle treats. We’re going to Isabel’s.”

“Dad says her place isn’t safe,” R.J. said as he scrambled to his feet.

Callie stepped into the bathroom and opened both sink taps. “You’ll be fine,” she hollered as she soaked a wash-rag and cleaned Luke’s face. “The floodwater has been pumped out. Just avoid anything that looks dangerous.”

“Can your baby go?” Angie called out. “Daddy says the water was combob-ulated!”

“That’s contaminated, birdbrain,” R.J. said.

But it was Angie’s little-girl sweet voice that reverberated in Callie’s mind.

Your baby, she’d said.

Not the baby.

Callie cringed, then carried Luke into the hallway to gauge Ethan’s reaction. He was standing by the front door, checking his wallet. He didn’t appear to have heard, thank heaven.

“Don’t worry about the baby,” Callie said to Angie. “And don’t worry about your safety. I’ll protect all of you.”

Roger’s kids gave her funny looks, but she ignored them and returned to the bathroom to finish getting Luke ready. Their opinions about her sanity meant very little.

Ethan’s continued cluelessness was paramount.

AS HE DROVE TOWARD the old Blume house, Ethan felt a hollowness in his gut. Officials were still speculating about why the levee had failed. Even if engineers determined a cause, affected folks would probably always fear heavy rains. Or they’d move to higher ground.

The neighborhood of small row houses at the southernmost tip of Augusta had been hit hard. Tall piles of ruined furniture lined the curbs and smaller pieces of garbage had drifted everywhere. Limbs and soggy papers dotted driveways and lawns, old tires rested on budding bushes, and some kid’s plastic play gym adorned the middle of an elaborate garden. The upturned slide matched the color of the jonquils blooming at the garden’s edge.

Those bright little beacons of hope couldn’t be cheerful enough. A lot of people had a lot of work to do. Some would have to start over entirely.

It was just as bizarre to travel the few miles out of town with Callie trailing him like a bloodhound on the scent of a fugitive. His normally cautious wife had already run one red light in her effort to keep up with him, and her eyes were glued to his car’s bumper.